True Raiders fans know that every coach since Tom Flores has been a pathetic underachiever (especially Jon Gruden, fuck him). But some current Raiders are treating this weekend’s game against San Diego like it’s old home week.
Nostalgia simply for the sake of nostalgia is the bane of my existence. Those Metal Skool retards are a prime example. Shit gets relegated to the dustbin of pop culture for a reason. There’s no such thing as enjoying it ironically, dicksmack, you just have shitty taste.
Not sharing this opinion is Oakland wide receiver Jerry Porter, who, I shit you not, was waxing sentimental ahead of this weekend’s game against the Chargers. Jerry, you see, unlike the Raiders fans who haven’t been able to suppress the horrible memories of the past four seasons, is fond of the Norv Turner era in Oakland.
“My dog Norv? Gotta love my dog Norv.” – Jerry Porter
While we wouldn’t be surprised to hear about some frottage in Norv’s cottage, this seems like a bad comparison. Marm always gets what he wants— milquetoast Norv, not so much. Incidentally, my late grandfather loved him some Marmaduke. But for some reason, he lived under the impression that his name was “Mandrake.”
Are you fuggin’ kidding me? Peabody invented the coddam WABAC machine. Norv can’t even figure out a way to stop the zone blitz.
The Junkyard Dog
JYD knew how to handle ‘roided up freaks like Hercules Hernandez and Brutus “The Barber” Beefcake. Norv on the other hand is still struggling with Shawne Merriman.
Okay, I think we are getting closer. Still, Droopy’s sad-sack demeanor is somewhat endearing and garners him some sympathy. Norv’s sorry-ass coaching record only elicits scorn and canine-related mockery.
Sandy from Little Orphan Annie
Ding, ding! I think we have a winner….
Assistant coach (speaking to Norv through headset): “Okay coach, we’re down by nine with five and a half minutes. We have all three timeouts. It’s fourth and one on our own 46. Do we want to punt or go for it?
Asst: Excuse me?
Asst: What the fuck do you mean, ‘arf’? We are trying to win a fuckin’ game and all you can say is ‘arf’???
Asst (sighs): We’re boned.